Albus Potter and The Memory Riddle
by gimmesomedrama
Summary: By his sixth year at Hogwarts, Albus Potter has accepted one thing: he is in love with his best friend. With a little help from an old textbook and a mysterious pensive, maybe he can figure out that his attraction is not so bad after all, and that he has more friends looking out for him than he knows. As well as a couple enemies. Albus/Scorpius
1. Chapter 1

Characters not mine, le duh.

* * *

Albus had liked boys for about as long as he could remember. Whether it was the various crushes he had had on players of the Chudley Cannons, or on his brother Jamie's friends, or the neighbor's son on their quiet street in Godric's Hollow, truth be told Albus could not remember a time when these thoughts were not simmering somewhere in the back of his mind. Of course, as the son of a Potter, _the_ Potter, and better yet as the stark image of his father, Albus had had a hard time accepting that he could be so fundamentally different than 'The Boy Who Lived'. Hogwarts had helped; it was here that he had begun the painful yet necessary separation between the Albus people thought he ought to be and the one he actually was.

It was at Hogwarts he had been sorted into Slytherin, a shock to not only everyone in his family, but to most of the wizarding world. _A Potter in Slytherin? But they are the most Gryffindor since Godric himself!_ He had gotten used to the murmurs and stares that had begun to subside after his first few years at school. He was, after all, a Slytherin through and through. He had grown to love his house, the way they would rather be honest, and sometimes cruel, at the expense of being sunny and fake. The fact that his housemates were witty, sarcastic, and not afraid to voice their ambitions. The fact that so many Slytherins had come into their time at Hogwarts judged to be the next generation of Death Eaters, that they too had arrived with the baggage of their parents, and learned to out live that somehow. And ultimately it was here, in the Great Hall the night of the Sorting Ceremony, that Albus did the most un-Potter like thing possible: he befriended a Malfoy. After reeling from the hat's clear cry of _Slytherin_ , he had stumbled to sit at his new house's table beside a blonde boy who nervously introduced himself as Scorpius much to the shock of those around him.

Perhaps Albus had loved Scorpius since that very first year. He couldn't be sure, but what he did know was that they became fast friends. Their fathers' looming larger-than-life legacies, the way people cleared tables for them or stared at them, created a shared experience that often transcended words. They got each other, and it lead to a fast friendship that was strong and intimate. They talked about their families, their fears, and futures they could build outside of the shadow of their fathers. Scorpius was quick-witted, up front, and loyal. He was not exceptionally talented at any particular subject, much like Albus himself, but instead got caught up in long discussions in the Slytherin common room about the future of the wizarding world, about the history of magic in the Americas, or about new potential potions yet to be brewed. He even had an interest in the current affairs of muggles, something he only shared with Albus. He would wave his slender arms, a look in his grey eyes that was passionate as they discussed current affairs of the day. Albus felt warmest and most content in these moments by the fire with his best friend. They shared most everything. And it had been Albus who had consoled his friend on the nights Scorpius got letters from his father about his grandfather's health in Azkaban, where Lucius Malfoy would remain until his eventual death.

Coming into their sixth year at Hogwarts, Albus had slowly come to terms with the sort of love he had for Scorpius. It had somehow behind his back slipped from a love borne of deep friendship into something entirely different. A love that Albus did not know what to do with, and a love that his Slytherin sensibilities were more than a little bit afraid of. He could never admit to his friend these feelings. He could not even admit his same-sex attractions to his family. He had struggled to find examples of such relationships even in the restricted section of the Hogwart's library. It wasn't that people thought these attractions disgusting, they were just a mystery to a magical world that liked to think it understood the nature of everything around it.

/

Albus clutched his quill tightly as he tried to convince himself that this potions essay was worth finishing. Somehow he had gotten into 6th year potions with simply an Exceeds Exceptions on his OWLs, in no due part to the ancient Professor Slughorn, who had a framed portrait of his father on his desk. Albus sighed loudly, plopping his head on the table.

"No luck yet, Al?" Scorpius's teasing voice came from behind him. Albus looked up and sighed again.

"No, no chance. Remind me why I am taking this class? Remind me why I am taking any classes?"

Scorpius sat down beside him, resting his arm on the back of his friend's chair in a way that made Albus feel warm inside. Even at night he was wearing a set of expensive robes that contrasted starkly to Albus's Molly Weasley-made sweater and worn blue jeans. Some things reminded Albus that Scorpius was indeed a Malfoy. Like his pale blonde hair that fell past his shoulders, and which he sometimes put into a sloppy bun when concentrating on something in the privacy of their room.

Scorpius dug a _Daily Prophet_ from his bag and threw it on the table. "Have you seen this, yet? Again, another tragedy," he ended, his gray eyes looking to Albus's.

Albus looked at the headline: "50 Muggles Killed In Bombing, Kings Cross." He shook his head, "It looks like we aren't the only ones with Dark Lords in our world." Scorpius nodded silently, running his hand through his hair. They hadn't always talked about Voldemort, and the War. But as their friendship had deepened, Scorpius had begun to talk more freely about this history, a sort of subdued sadness in his eyes.

Albus looked down at his unfinished potions essay. "This is going to have to wait. I'm not getting anywhere."

"Wait, hold on, I think I have something that could help." He pulled out a worn Advanced Potions textbook with a flourish. Scorpius had a look in his eyes that was equal parts mischievous and smug. "I found it last night."

"Gee thank. I do have my own books you know. A since when do you buy used books?" The book's cover was practically falling off.

"No, no. It's not _just_ a used book," he said, rolling his eyes with a smirk. "Look." He flipped to a random page of the book. Albus looked at the page, where someone had meticulously annotated a recipe for Draught of Living Death, providing suggestions and revisions in the margin. "Wow." Albus flipped to the next page, where there were doodles of various ingredients and a title of a book on the history of the Cruciatus curse scribbled at the bottom of the page. "What on Earth is this?" He flipped through the book with awe and more than a little bit of fear.

"I'm –uh not really sure what it is or _whose_ exactly _._ But I found it about a week ago in the–the library. Says it belongs to some Half-blood Prince guy." Albus looked up from the book and stared at his friend with curiosity, knowing that Scorpius was lying about where he had found the book, but also knowing he would be less likely to tell Albus if he pressed the question. He would have to wait and see where this mysterious book had come from.

"It's a miracle worker." Scorpius pushed the artifact towards Albus. "Use it for the night. You'll see what I mean." Albus usually was weary of random magical objects that seemed to know more than he did. But he was in desperate straights; his pride was on the line and his potions grade. "Ok, thanks."

They worked in relative silence for the next hour. Scorpius was reading _The_ _Daily Prophet,_ every once and a while stopping to practice transfiguring a button into a pansy. Albus had made serious headway on his essay with the help of the book's annotations on cutting sopophorous pods. "I'm going to call it a night, Scor."

"But its early," Scorpius remarked, looking up at his friend with a slightly amused gaze in his grey eyes.

"Quidditch tomorrow," Albus explained. He had been seeker for Slytherin's team since his second year. Even after being sorted in Slytherin, and befriending a Malfoy much to the chagrin of his parents, Quidditch had been the one thing that he and his father could always talk about. His dad even snuck to some of his games, hiding in the stands so as not to draw attention to himself. He never told Albus he was there afterwards, but Albus knew, having glimpsed him from up high once or twice. Albus was not the star seeker his father had been, but he was good and loved the feeling of flying and the connection he felt to his teammates when they worked through a particular tough match. Scorpius was not much of a Quidditch fan, but he liked the idea of Slytherin, and his best friend, coming out on top, so he cheered the team on.

Heading upstairs to his room, he pocketed the strange Potions textbook. This book would be the only thing allowing him to pass Advanced Potions with a decent grade, he thought with a wry smile.

As he set his bag down and got ready for bed, Albus could not help but feel a pang of loneliness. It was usually at night, when his wits were at an end and when the stress of the day had chipped away at him that he entertained his favorite fantasy: Scorpius beside him, his slender tall body intertwined against Albus's. He knew it was sort of silly. He was a teenage boy, so he probably should be thinking about snogging his best friend wildly in a broom cupboard. And while he did think about that often, it was this fantasy—Scorpius sleeping beside him—that seemed to bubble up within him most frequently. It was with this image that Albus slowly slipped into sleep.

/

The next day rushed along as Albus headed to early morning practice, and then classes, and then somehow slipped in time to study with Rose, his cousin and other best friend. He loved hanging out with Rose because she knew him in a way others could not, seeing as they had been friends since birth. With Rose he could joke about finding a guy cute, and she would respond with her trademark all-knowing smile. And that was that; no explanation required. Because Albus was pretty sure she knew everything already. Except for maybe the Scorpius part.

"Hey, Al," Rose commented mildly, shutting her book for a moment, "I was reading and I came across something rather interesting."

Albus snickered slightly, "Reading? Shocking."

Rose rolled her eyes and continued, "Well, I was reading a book, a biography really, on Albus Dumbledore…" she dug through her bag, pulling out the heavy tome and pushing it onto the table. Sure enough there on the cover was the wizened face of one of the most famous wizards of the past century, his father's mentor, and Albus's namesake. He was proud to be named after such a man, but it sure was a burden at times to even entertain livening up to those standards.

"See, look," Rose pointed to a small paragraph on the page she had flipped to. Albus tried to read the small print for a moment.

He looked up at Rose. "So his patronus is a phoenix? What of it?" Albus could not for the life of him figure out what his cousin was trying to get at.

Rose took a deep breath. " Don't you remember what we read in Defense Against The Dark Arts last week?" Honestly, Albus could not remember for the life of him. He had been exhausted last week from a particularly brutal batch of practices.

Rose continued on, "It was the chapter on Grindelwald. His patronus…"

Albus suddenly remembered. "…Was a phoenix too. But what of it? It's a cool bird. And they were both wildly talented wizards."

"People don't just have the exact same patronus. Especially people who know each other so well. It's rare. And it usually only indicates one thing," she paused for emphasis, as if hoping she would not have to spell it out, "they were in love, Albus! I'm positive."

Albus tried to hide his shock. Usually Rose did not bring this sort of stuff up unless he did first. And Dumbledore? There was no way. People would have known. "Merlin, Rose, don't you think that is a little farfetched?"

"Why? They were best friends. They even practically lived together for a time. And Dumbledore was heartbroken when they finally dueled and Grindelwald was imprisoned. Everyone knows that." Rose pointed to the biography as if for proof.

Albus snorted, "Ok, Rose. Auror in training and now detective?"

Rose rolled her eyes again, "Whatever," she paused, looking at him pointedly, "I thought _you_ would like to know."

Albus looked down at his books and decided not to respond.

/

After making his prefect rounds, Albus stumbled into his room, exhausted and confused from his discussion with Rose, which had been whirling inside his brain since then. There was Scorpius lying on his bed on the other side of the room. He was wearing his pajama shirt and pants that were tight and leaved little to the imagination. His hair was in a sloppy bun as he read. Albus usually tried not to look at Scorpius too long when he was wearing that ensemble. He was worried his body might give away what he had been trying to hide for years.

"Hey, Al, what's up? You look annoyed," Scorpius murmured, looking up at his best friend.

Al sat down on his own bed with a slump. "I just had a weird conversation with Rose, that's all." He shrugged. Scorpius look at his friend thoughtfully, "What did she say?"

Albus debated whether or not he should tell Scorpius the nature of her remarks. Would it expose him? Would it make Scorpius uncomfortable? Honestly, they had never really talked about attraction, let alone same-sex attraction. They were both pretty private with that. But maybe this would be a good way to test the waters?

He took a deep breath. "She was under the impression Dumbledore was gay, and that he and Grindelwald were…a thing."

Scorpius looked up at Albus, his face inscrutable for a moment. "That's because they were."

"Merlin, not you too. Am I going crazy here? Is this common knowledge to everyone but me?"

Scorpius just shrugged. "It was mostly gossip, I guess. My grandfather mentioned it once, but I don't think it was supposed to be a complement to Dumbledore." He continued, "It makes sense. The man never married."

"Plenty of people don't get married," Albus quipped.

Scorpius just looked at him silently for a moment. "Why does this bother you again?"

"It—It doesn't," Albus muttered. "I just thought she was being ridiculous, but I guess not."

And with that the discussion was over.

A couple minutes later Scorpius looked up from his reading, "Al, can I borrow the special potions text book tonight? Need it for my essay."

Albus shrugged, "Yeah, it's in my trunk."

/

The next day Albus could not get his and Scorpius's conversation out of his head, so he headed to the Astronomy Tower, his favorite spot to just think. Was he the only one who was out of the loop on Dumbledore's love life? He was named after the man after all, and he liked guys too! Shouldn't he have known? He was not even sure why he cared so much. He just wanted answers, none of this confusing speculation.

As he passed a corner on the fifth floor, he suddenly heard a strange cracking sound from the wall to his right. It was as if the stones were rearranging themselves into a…door? The Room of Requirement! Rose had told him this place existed, and that their parents had used it to organize against a corrupt Hogwarts professor decades ago. But why was it appearing now?

Usually he didn't open random doors that appeared in the ancient castle. Who knew what dangerous thing could be on the other side. But the part of him that was thoroughly Potter, and therefore Gryffindor, came out on top this time. He opened the door with a sharp push before he could regret it.

Inside was completely dark except for a soft white glow that was being emitted from a stone structure in the center of the room. Albus walked closer to it with his wand raised, his feet moving with a mind of their own. Curiosity had overcome common sense. In front of him was a large water-filled bowl with limestone pillars coming from its sides that raised above the water like cathedral arches, creating a sort of cabinet for what appeared to be hundreds of small glass vials. It was a pensive. Although it looked quite different from the small one his father kept in his study. This one had many memories; whoever's pensive this was must have lived a long and memorable life.

Albus picked up a vial, reading the tag. "Godric's Hollow, summer after 7th year." Godric's Hollow? That was where _he_ lived, and where his father's parents had lived before their murder. Without thinking, he poured the memory into the pensive, watching as it swirled around gently in the water. Suddenly, the silver wisp picked up its pace, and before Albus could back away, his head fell forward into the pensive's depths, as if he was being pulled in by two invisible hands.

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First fic I have ever written so please R&R to inspire me to continue and maybe even make this a full length story (I have ideas in mind)!


	2. Chapter 2

Characters not mine, friends. Sorry for the multiple update notifications on this chapter but this site is very new to me and technology is scary.

Albus softly gasped at what he saw in front of him. It was Godric's Hollow, but something about the houses was slightly different. The molding and paint all looked somewhat old-fashioned, as if he had traveled back in time a century. The street before him was barely recognizable, except for a house: Bathilda Bagshot's. The house still remained to this day. A boy with long brown hair, a boy who could not have been much older than Albus himself, headed to the door of the house, carrying a tray of baked goods. He knocked lightly.

"Dear boy, do come in," a voice sounded from the inside.

Albus cautiously followed the boy in. The house was standard Godric's Hollow fare, an old-fashioned parlor room with a fireplace and a library to the left of the entry hall. Yet the décor looked bizarre, lace covers and candles everywhere. The same voice called again.

"In the library, dear."

The brown haired boy went in, with Albus following closely behind. No one had noticed him yet, as if he were a ghost or had on his father's invisibility cloak.

The boy set down the baked goods in offering. "How are you, today, Professor Bagshot?" he asked politely, leaning back into his chair in a manner that suggested he had been there for tea before.

"Bathilda, dear. And well." She looked up at him with sympathetic eyes. "Now then, how are _you_ doing?"

The boy's eyes flashed with an emotion that Albus could not quite read. Was it pain? Frustration? Clearly something had happened.

Bathilda Bagshot seemed to notice as well, because she quickly changed the subject. She picked up her cup of tea, taking a sip. "I am doing some rather complicated research on Incan magic for the next book. Did they ever teach you that sort of stuff at Hogwarts?"

So he had gone to Hogwarts, Albus thought, trying to figure out whose memory he was infiltrating. The boy looked rather young; he must have just graduated.

He answered softly, "No, they did not unfortunately."

"Pity. There is a lot of magic out there, Albus, and a lot of magic yet to be discovered."

Albus, the living, breathing Albus Potter, froze. Who was this boy in front of him? It only dawned on him when the boy responded.

"And not enough time to study it."

This was Albus Dumbledore. Once he focused on the boy's face, he could see enough similarities between him and the portraits of the wizard in Professor McGonagall's office and his father's study. He had heard so many stories about the famous wizard from his parents that to see him alive, and as a young man no less, was magical.

Albus listened eagerly at the entrance of the room as young Dumbledore talked to Bathilda Bagshot about classes, about plans he had made with a friend to travel the world after graduation, but as the conversation continued Dumbledore seemed to grow more and more tired and anxious.

"Dear, if you ever need…help, of any sort, please let me know. It should not be a boy's job to raise his little sister alone," Bathilda remarked.

Dumbledore's head snapped towards her. "I can take care of this myself." The tone was cold in a way that shocked Albus. His father had always described Dumbledore as a patient and kind man. Clearly, whatever had happened had deeply affected the wizard.

Just as Bathilda was about to respond, a voice sounded from another room in the house, "Auntie, would you like me to make more tea?"

"Dear, do come meet Albus!" Bathilda exclaimed with a smile as she eyed Dumbledore, whose shoulders were slumped as he looked at his teacup. A young man with mid-length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes entered the room. He was exceedingly handsome, with a noble air about him as he gracefully moved across the room. Albus could not help but be reminded of his best friend with a blush.

"Gellert, this is Albus. Albus, Gellert," Bathilda introduced. "Gellert Grindelwald is my niece. A talented young man, just like yourself."

Albus let out a gasp so loud he swore the inhabitants of the room looked his direction. Grindelwald? But of course. They had met here, after Dumbledore's seventh year. He could not help but feel that Grindelwald looked exceedingly normal— well, handsome—but relatively normal for someone who would become one of the greatest dark wizards of all time.

Dumbledore looked up from his teacup, making eye contact with the blonde-haired boy. When their eyes met, Dumbledore seemed to jump with a start, as if he had been burned. With a smile Gellert dipped his head politely, shaking young Dumbledore's hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I have heard many good things from my aunt."

Dumbledore took the man's hand, weakly responding, "And you."

Suddenly the room began to evaporate around Albus and the image of the two boys in front of him disappeared. Albus gasped for air as he pulled his head from the pensive. What on earth had he just seen? And why had he seen it? It seemed like too much of coincidence that he would stumble upon a pensive and see this memory a mere day after his conversations with Rose and Scorpius. Shaking his head, he made his way to the door, deciding he had had enough mystery for the day. He needed to find Scorpius. He would know what to make of this.

Albus headed towards the Great Hall. Sure enough, Scorpius was there, eating at Slytherin table with Zabini and Goyle, who both played quidditch alongside Albus. Nodding to his teammates in greeting, he motioned to his best friend. "We need to talk." Scorpius stared at him quizzically. "You will not believe what just happened."

Zabini and Goyle looked at the two boys and shrugged, continuing their conversation. Scorpius slowly got up from the bench, lazily grabbing his bag as he went.

"Can you be more slow," Albus muttered. His friend smiled wickedly. "I do it for you. What is it?"

And so Albus ramblingly explained what he had just seen. He could see Scorpius trying to follow along; the story did seem implausible, he figured.

"And there were more memories there?" Scorpius asked curiously, as Albus's narration came to a close.

Albus nodded, "I guess so. There were hundreds of vials."

Scorpius looked thoughtful. "Dumbledore must have stored some of his memories in the Room of Requirement. The ministry archived the memories recovered from the pensive in his office after his death. My father told me they were crucial in convicting Death Eaters after the War."

Albus continued his thought, "but why hide these ones? The memory was pretty harmless. What makes these memories so special?"

"The only way to figure out is to see what else is in those vials," Scorpius commented.

"I don't know. I barely have time as it is with classes and quidditch. I can't just sit all day going through Dumbledore's memories."

"Well, thanks to his," Scorpius pulled out the Advanced Potions textbook from his robes, "we have more time. Potions is a breeze with this book by your side."

Albus was still not sure what to make of that book and its mysterious owner. More questions were swirling in his head than answers. Questions about the book, the pensive, and the apparently complicated figure that was Albus Dumbledore. He nodded, "Fine. Saturday we'll do some exploring."

Scorpius grinned, hitting Albus on the shoulder. "Look at you, Potter. It sounds like you've found yourself a mystery." Albus grumbled, trying to hide the blush that had begun to paint his cheeks.

/

Friday afternoon Albus and Rose went to the library in search of books on the life of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. He had filled his cousin in on the strange memory he had seen, as well as the pensive in the Room of Requirement. Rose had tried to find the pensive later that day, but the room had only transformed into a massive closet. For some reason Albus was sure he would find the pensive again. Something in his gut told him so.

"Here is another biography on Grindelwald," Rose said, dragging a heavy-looking book from a shelf. "Maybe there is something in here that will better help us understand why this memory is so important."

They began working their way through the large stack of books they had found, every so often sharing a new fact. But whenever they found passages explaining the two wizards' friendship, the details about their first meeting were vague at best.

"There has got to be something we are missing," Albus sighed, running his hand through his unruly black hair, "or why else would those memories be hidden?"

Rose nodded. "And there's another question."

Albus looked at her curiously. She continued, "Why did _you_ find it. The Room of Requirement shows us what we need. There has got to be some sort of information here that you need, whether you know it or not."

Albus sighed, running his hands through his hair again. Even though his Slytherin sensibilities loved a good riddle, he did not have the time right now to even begin to crack this one.

"Hey Rose, have you ever heard of a 'Half-blood Prince'?" Albus suddenly asked, figuring if he could not figure out the pensive mystery he may as well try this one.

Rose scrunched her nose. "I haven't, but there is nothing a little bit of library research can't fix. I'll do some looking around this evening."

"Thanks, Rosie, you're the best," Albus smiled. She huffed at his use of her childhood nickname and went back to her book.

Grabbing his bag, Albus headed towards the Slytherin common room. He had been so busy thinking about Dumbledore's pensive that he had barely had time to do his work.

When he got to the common room, the space was relatively empty. Albus settled into his favorite leather armchair in one of the corners and began his transfiguration homework. He had made it halfway through the reading when his mind started to wander towards Scorpius. And, of course, inevitably towards Scorpius's eyes, and the small smiles he would give rarely, like gifts, or the teasing grins. The way his body looked when he was shirtless and splayed out on his bed—Albus snapped out of the daydream and looked down at the book on his lap. This was going to be a long night. He had so much to do and way too many distractions.

He continued working. Although he could not tell what time it was in the Slytherin dungeon, he knew it must be late because the common room was empty, the upperclassmen having trickled to bed an hour or so ago. As he was about to move on to his Charms homework, the dungeon door opened abruptly and in walked Scorpius.

Immediately Albus knew something was up. Scorpius's usually impassive face had a look that could only be described as panicked. He was clutching a letter to his chest. As he saw Albus, he let out a weak greeting.

"What is it?" Albus asked immediately. "A letter from home?"

Scorpius nodded silently, slumping into a chair next to him. "He is sick again, but this time they think it could be fatal."

"I'm sorry." Albus knew he was referring to Lucius Malfoy, who was still serving his life sentence in Azkaban and whose health had been rapidly deteriorating for some time now.

Albus and Scorpius were both people who did not easily talk about their feelings. Maybe it was their guarded Slytherin nature, or the fact that they felt that none of their pain would ever rival the struggles their fathers had gone through to simply survive. Sure, as best friends they shared a lot with each other, certainly more than they did with anyone else. But Albus was always not sure what to say when the subject of Lucius Malfoy came up. There was part of him that deeply despised the man and all that he had done to hurt his father, but most of all what he had done to hurt Scorpius. The Malfoy name would forever be associated with Lucius's treachery.

But then the part of him that loved Scorpius, whether he liked it or not, would think about how this must feel, the conflicting emotions of not knowing how to react to news of his dying grandfather, who he had met only a couple times, but whose shadow loomed over the Malfoy family.

"What are you thinking?" Albus asked, looking at his friend who was now silently staring into the fire.

"That I hate him."

Albus watched Scorpius's face carefully. His expression had slipped back into guarded impassivity.

"But that he is family. And Salazar knows my family is small and selective enough as it is," Scorpius continued, as if talking to himself more than to his friend.

Albus could not even pretend that he knew what Scorpius was feeling. As much as he and Scorpius lived lives that sometimes had shockingly similar resonances, in this way his friend was alone. Albus's family was famous for all the right reasons. As much as he often wished his father and mother were not so noticeable, ultimately that fame brought the family privilege and respect. In the Weasley-Potter clan Albus was the closest thing to a disappointment, a Slytherin in a house of lions. He could not imagine what it meant to bear the name 'Malfoy,' and to look like the spitting image of your Death Eater grandfather.

Scorpius looked as if he was about to say something more to Albus, but shut his mouth. Albus turned to him. "Scor, let me know if you want to talk more. Ok?"

Scorpius nodded slightly, his face not betraying any emotion this time. They sat well into the night, Albus finishing his homework and Scorpius silently staring at the fireplace.

/

Albus woke up with a start. He was in his bed. When had he gone to bed? He was still wearing his clothing from the day before, his hair rumpled. Scorpius was digging for something in his trunk on the other side of the room. Pulling the Advanced Potions textbook out, he looked over at Albus with a smirk.

"Decided to join the land of the living, Potter?"

Scorpius seemed so relaxed that it was easy to forget how distraught he had been last night. "How did I even get to bed?" Albus asked, yawning. "Last thing I remember I was working on Charms."

"You fell asleep. So I carried you in," Scorpius shrugged. Albus felt a warm sensation spread from the top of his head to his stomach and lower still. Just the idea of Scorpius putting him to bed—the kindness behind the action and his hands on Albus—made him shiver. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of ripped blue jeans, much to Scorpius's horror. His friend still had a hard time understanding the utility of muggle clothing. "I'm heading to breakfast. Do you still want to figure out this pensive business tonight?"

"Of course," Scorpius said, facing the opposite direction. He pulled off his pajama shirt, exposing his back; his silver-white hair hung loosely down it. His body was slender and somewhat feminine in a way that made Albus want to touch him and feel his smooth skin. The curve of his lower back met shoulders that were slightly toned, and whose muscles rippled as he pulled on his clothing for the day. Albus gulped; yeah, he needed to get out of here.

/

At dinner that evening, Albus sat beside Scorpius, Zabini, and Iris Parkinson. The talk turned inevitably to quidditch, and the fact that their first match of the season was coming up next weekend. Zabini was a pretty talented Chaser, and always had a lot to say about strategy, but cared significantly less about schoolwork.

As people slowly began to leave dinner, Scorpius motioned towards Albus. "I think we're going to hit the library. See you later?"

The two friends headed towards the fifth floor. As they made their way in comfortable silence, Albus kept sneaking looks at his Scorpius, thinking about what he had been feeling this morning. His stomach felt hot again. Merlin, he needed to get over this bizarre yet over-powering attraction to his best friend.

The door appeared immediately as they turned the corner. For a moment Albus worried that the pensive would not be there, but sure enough a glow was emanating from the middle of the room. As the boys made their way over to sort through the vials, Scorpius turned to Albus. "What sort of memories should we be looking for?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Let's just see if we find anything unusual." Albus went from vial to vial, reading the tags, but each one seemed to be from the same summer, the summer after Dumbledore's seventh year at Hogwarts. From their research in the library, Rose had told him that Dumbledore had moved to Godric's Hollow that summer to take care of his sister Ariana after the death of his mother. That certainly explained the wizard's weariness. But what else was special about this summer? Albus was not quite sure, but he had a suspicion it had something to do with Grindelwald.

He picked up a vial next to the memory he had seen in Bathilda Bagshot's parlor. "Maybe this is in chronological order? Let's see what is next."

Scorpius nodded, as Albus poured the contents of the vial into the pensive. "Just place your head into..." Albus trailed off. Scorpius clearly already knew what he was doing because he was lowering his head into the pensive. Albus followed him, a rush of nerves hitting him as he wondered what they would see. And then there was darkness.

Liking the story so far? If so R&R because I am a lazy human and will only keep on writing this so long as there is interest. Plus, I'm a newbie fanfic writer and need love.


	3. Chapter 3

Even though Albus had no idea what to expect, it was less abrupt the second time. The clear waters gave way and there was young Dumbledore, all lanky limbs and long brown hair. He even looked about the same age as when Albus had last seen him.

Yet Albus couldn't help but feel disappoint bubble up when he wondered if he was simply viewing the same memory all over again.

Dumbledore was lingering on the step of Bathilda Bagshot's ancient house. The afternoon light was warm and the air buzzed with the sounds of cicadas come for the summer.

But no, the memory was a different one. For one, young Dumbledore didn't enter. Instead he walked around the porch, back and forth and back and forth.

Albus looked over at Scorpius, who stood entirely still. Scorpius was not one to tell anyone he was overwhelmed. But Albus could tell. He looked like a doe—frozen, eyes wide in disbelief and more than a little panic.

Albus swatted at his friend's arm.

"Can he hear us?" Scorpius asked breathlessly still frozen in place.

"I don't think so," Albus responded.

And then the door swung open and Grindelwald stepped out. It felt weird to call him that. He was just a young man after all, not much older than Scorpius and Albus. A young man with a name that had yet to contain any of the menace with which his later crimes would imbue it.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," Grindelwald said with a small smile. It was like a cat's—cautious and clever. Even though Albus knew he was invincible, the smile made him nervous. Flustered.

After all, Grindelwald was handsome. He was the sort of handsome that was noticeable and intimidating, like a sculpture with every curve and edge expertly carved and icy to the touch. He was taller than even Dumbledore and had thick pale hair that hung down past his shoulders.

He would have looked somewhat like Scorpius if it weren't for his eyes, which instead of soft grey, were a piercing blue. They were the eyes of a wild animal, eyes that made one take a step back.

"I just got here," Dumbledore responded. "Every time I've visited your aunt for tea she hasn't been able to talk about anything but you. Well you, and history. And I'm not the biggest fan of history. Actually, I'm more a Defense Against the Dark Arts—"

It was honestly bizarre to see the greatest wizard in recent memory incapable of string sentences together in front of this poised young wizard. Grindelwald seemed to sense it too.

"I appreciate you're willingness to show me around. I haven't seen someone my own age since I moved here in June."

"My pleasure," Dumbledore responded. "My favorite part of the Hollow is the woods behind the cemetery. Have you been?"

Grindelwald shook his head.

"Then I have to take you." Dumbledore motioned for the blond wizard to follow him and they set out down the lane, the ends of their light summer roads trailing behind them.

Albus and Scorpius followed after silently, always keeping a few feet between them and the two wizards.

"You're interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Grindelwald asked, his body turning towards Dumbledore as they walked.

"Yeah. It was my favorite subject at Hogwarts. I like being on my feet. And I got restless in potions."

Albus snorted. That he could relate to. Scorpius suppressed a laugh and flashed a look his way.

"Me too," Grindelwald agreed.

"So, you studied it too?"

"In a manner of speaking. Durmstrang teaches the dark arts to those who are advanced enough to learn them," Grindelwald replied as they began to enter the brush of the forest.

The woods were shaded by towering spruces and cedars. The scene would have almost felt spooky if it weren't for the rays of summer light piercing through the web of branches.

"And you were? Advanced enough, that is?" Dumbledore asked slowly, kicking a pinecone from in front of him. His expression looked curious, but guarded. He seemed less nervous now, though hardly relaxed.

"I was a quick learner. But restless. Like you. I left before completing my schooling." Grindelwald offered in explanation. Albus looked to Scorpius, a question dancing in his gaze. _Why had he left?_

But before Albus could ask it out loud Dumbledore beat him to it. "Why would you leave? I can't imagine just up and leaving Hogwarts."

"Haven't you left now?" Grindelwald asked with a small smile, his long blonde hair hanging in his eyes.

Dumbledore paused, his eyes dodging his companion's. He frowned. "In a way, I suppose."

They walked silently for a few minutes. As they went deeper into the woods, the summer light penetrated the dense clusters of trees with less intensity. The light only illuminated the outline of their shapes.

The quiet felt relatively comfortable, as if it were a pause shared between old friends and not boys who had only just met each other. Scorpius and Albus trailed behind the young men, catching each other's eyes here and there but saying nothing. Each of them didn't want to miss any word the two in front of them might say as they walked deeper into the wood. And then, like that, the silence was broken.

"Why are you here?"

"I beg your pardon?" young Dumbledore stuttered.

"My aunt says you are bright, that you could be an Auror if you wanted it. That you could be Minister of Magic even," Grindelwald explained. "So why are you here?"

Dumbledore looked taken aback. He paused for a moment, as if he were picking his words carefully, before responding. "I'm taking care of my sister and brother. They're all the family I've got. And we lived here, my parents and me and the two of them. It feels wrong to leave."

Grindelwald nodded. "You must really love them." The way the word _love_ rolled off of his tongue felt tender, as if he were caressing the word or holding it close. That was all the more reason why Dumbledore's response startled Albus so much.

"I don't know if I do."

Grindelwald seemed surprised too, for even from behind Albus and Scorpius could see his body tensed.

"Can you love the people who hold you back, even when they don't mean to?" Dumbledore seemed to ask this more to himself than Grindewald. "I had so many things I wanted to do after Hogwarts. To travel the world and meet witches and wizards from every corner of it. To learn dark and mysterious magics that even the halls of Hogwarts knew nothing of. And now?"

"There is still so much time, Albus" Grindelwald murmured.

Albus—that is, the one watching—shivered at hearing his name out loud. It felt so strange to hear it come so tenderly from a young man infamous for his treacherous and dark heart.

"We're young. This world is ours to inherit," Grindelwald continued. His hand brushed against Dumbledore's arm in what seemed like an act of comfort. The motion was small but deliberate, not to be mistaken for anything else but what it was. Dumbledore jumped slightly.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he answered, looking down at Grindelwald's touch.

"I usually am," Grindelwald answered with a grin that stretched across his pale white skin and seemed to light him up from within.

For a moment he was so engrossed that he forgot his best friend was watching this unfold alongside him. That was until Scorpius murmured, "Albus, this is insane."

Dumbledore started up again. "But enough of me, what about you?" But as Grindelwald open his mouth to speak, the sky came crashing down and the forest cut to black. And there were Albus and Scorpius gasping for breath, heaving over the stone basin of the pensive.

"What was that?" Albus asked.

"The memory, it must have been tampered with," Scorpius responded. Noticing Albus's confusion, he added, "trust me, I've dug enough through my father's pensive to know what that looks like."

Albus took a deep breath. He couldn't believe what he had seen. The cautious yet easy warmth between the two young wizards. Dumbledore's unsure answers—about his future, his family.

"They seemed…so normal," Scorpius wondered out loud. "I don't know what I expected. I thought Grindelwald," he paused, "well, I thought he'd look kind of like Voldemort."

Albus stepped back at that name. He rarely if ever heard Scorpius say it. And the harshness of the sounds felt wrong coming out of his friend's mouth—felt violent.

"They're just kids. Like us," Albus offered.

"Hey, I guess we can answer once and for all if Dumbledore had the hots for Grindewald," Scorpius said with a smirk.

"What do you mean?" Albus asked, walking from the pensive and towards the door.

"O come on," Scorpius said. "It was obvious. He looked nervous out of his mind. And the brush at the end? Textbook."

Albus couldn't help but wonder: if all of this was so easy to spot for Scorpius, did he know about Albus's budding feelings for him? After all, Albus was pretty sure he was no less stealthy than his namesake.

"I guess," Albus said, trying to switch subjects. "I wonder why we are able to find the pensive. I wonder why it's here at all."

Scorpius shrugged. "I'm not sure. But I'm not complaining. It's definitely more interesting than potions. And far better than a history lesson."

"Zabini will hate to not be in on the gossip," Albus offered with a grin.

"Exactly," Scorpius said, his grey eyes sparkling. "This is the best kind of secret. It's ours."

Albus wanted to jump up and down at the way he said that. A secret between just the two of them. "And Rose," he added.

"But the pensive only appears for us," Scorpius smiled. " _We're_ the chosen ones," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Shut it," Albus exclaimed, swatting at his best friend. They headed towards the dungeons and the common room.

It was hard to get any work done after what they'd seen. They tried for an hour or so before giving up completely.

Instead, they talked into the night, long after everyone else had left and the green glow of the lake had faded to midnight black. Candlelight illuminated Scorpius's face, accentuating every angle of his jaw and neck.

They talked about what they had seen, about Dumbledore and the pensive. But they also talked about Lucius and his health, about their plans after Hogwarts. And as Scorpius draped a blanket over the two of them on the couch, all Albus could find himself wishing was that the candle would never run out.

/

The next few days were a whirlwind of classes, afternoon quidditch practices, and late-night study session with Scorpius and Rose in the library. Albus didn't mind having so much to do, though he was finding it hard to concentrate when his head was swimming with images from the pensive.

A part of him wished he could just send an owl to his father, explaining what he had seen and asking for his advice. Surely his dad would know more about Dumbledore and Grindelwald's friendship. He had spent countless time with the old headmaster.

But having that conversation with his father meant potentially talking about love—between two men. And somehow Albus knew that whatever he had seen in that pensive was meant for him and Scorpius alone.

Rose was still digging around for answers. But she hadn't found much more on the beginnings of Dumbledore and Grindelwald's friendship that summer so many years ago. The history books were decidedly neutral, mentioning their early years in passing.

One thing that did stick out to Albus was Grindelwald's schooling. Apparently, he had gotten kicked out of Durmstrang sometime in his fifth or sixth year. The reasons behind his expulsion were unclear.

But Durmstrang had always seemed like a lenient place in comparison to Hogwarts, so Albus had to assume that it was something pretty bad. Bad enough that Grindelwald hadn't mentioned it to Dumbledore on their walk to the woods.

Albus found himself sitting and puzzling over this by the lake on a Friday afternoon, a few days after their adventure in the pensive, when Scorpius sat down beside him. The two boys hadn't had a chance to be alone with one another since their evening in the Slytherin common room.

"I've been looking all over for you," Scorpius said quietly.

"Well, you've found me. And I'm not going anywhere," Albus answered, leaning back on the grass and looking up at the sky.

"Albus, I—my fathered owled me. We're going to visit my grandfather, before he dies."

"In Azkaban?" Albus wondered out loud. Scorpius nodded.

He felt dumb asking a question he already knew the answer to but Albus had a hard time imagining Scorpius sitting by the bed of his dying grandfather—even a man like Lucius—in the cold and stony confines of that prison. It seemed like hardly the place for that last exchange, no matter the crimes committed.

"When?" he added.

"I don't know. As soon as they'll let us."

"Scorpius...I could ask my father to speed up the whole—"

"No, you don't have to do that. Really," Scorpius implored, his grey eyes meeting Albus's from his spot in the grass.

"That gesture would probably kill my grandfather even faster. Trust me. The last thing he receives is an act of kindness from Harry Potter. Can you imagine?"

Scorpius let out a laugh, but the sound just seemed stiff.

"Scorpius, I'm here for you. No matter what happens." Albus murmured. His friend was still upright beside him, looking at the wide and placid expanse of the lake.

"I know."

Albus didn't know what came over him but in a gesture that felt at once utterly natural and completely wild, he reached out for Scorpius forearm, running his hand along it in the same way he had seen Grindelwald comfort Dumbledore in the memory.

But this time Scorpius didn't jump. He leaned into the touch in a way that made Albus's insides liquid gold. He felt the phrase 'I love you' half-formed in his head, battering at the edges of his brain as if begging him to say the words out loud.

But he couldn't. Not yet.

"I know."


End file.
